


Harry Potter and the Inferi

by Valrhona



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 07:48:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21249914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valrhona/pseuds/Valrhona
Summary: AU where Harry and Hermione are aurors in Victorian times.Written exclusively for the Fairest’s Freaky Spooktacular.





	Harry Potter and the Inferi

Harry was still walking down the aisle to his seat when the train blew its whistle and slowly began to move along the track. He fumbled in his pocket for his ticket- really, he’d just had it a minute ago- when he caught a glimpse of his partner through a window into a private compartment. She hardly looked up from the table on which she was arranging a thick stack of parchments into smaller piles as he entered the small space. 

“Close the door and draw the shade,” she said automatically as she worked, her eyes darting from page to page as she sorted. 

“Hullo to you, too, Hermione,” Harry said as he obeyed her commands and then placed his own valise beside the bench across from her. He sat, careful not to disturb her work. 

“You’re late,” Hermione grimaced, clearly incapable of a smile at this time of day. 

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, running a hand through the unruly mess of his black hair. 

“Well, you’re here,” Hermione relented finally. She sat back for a moment to look at him. “Did you just wake up?” she asked, horrified. 

“Not exactly,” Harry replied defensively. He could tell she didn’t believe him by the way she huffed out a breath and went back to laying her work out on the table. 

“These are all personal accounts collected over the years,” Hermione said, answering a question Harry was quite sure no one had asked. “It’s not very clear what we are working with here. It could be anything from a banshee to a ghost, to just a witch they’ve pissed off for one reason or another.”

“And we get to come in and clean it up,” Harry added with a wry smile. He adjusted his glasses before giving the upside-down papers a cursory glance. 

“Pretty much,” Hermione murmured with a small sigh, not much more than an exhale. She began talking about the case, starting mid-whatever thought she had been thinking last. 

Harry was used to this, to Hermione and her ways. He’d heard of the witch called the brightest of their age, though usually it had been words spoken by her former classmates of the terror she was whilst in school. Having been muggle-born, she had struggled to find her place in the wizarding world. It was something Harry could sympathize with, as he had been raised half in the muggle world as well until his eleventh birthday. 

The gentle swaying motion of the train was lulling Harry into dozing off as Hermione continued her lecture. He positioned himself so he was still facing Hermione but leaning his head against the wall to settle into a decent little nap.

“Harry!” she yelled suddenly, quite rudely, he thought, as she knew he loved a bit of a nap on the train. 

Unfortunately, he’d been out enough that her sharp tone startled him and his hand accidentally sent a stack of papers fluttering to the floor. He pulled out his wand to-

“Harry, no! The statute!” she squealed, mortified. 

“No one can see, Hermione,” he complained as he bent over anyway to pick the papers up the muggle way. 

“One can never be too careful,” she admonished him, then winced as he banged his head on the underside of the table on his way back up. “Sorry,” she added. “But look at what I’ve found!”

So she’d been yelling at him in excitement, he gathered, as she put the pieces of the puzzle of the story together. The region of Ireland they were headed to was former wizard territory, and as such still had quite a bit of what the locals called fairy activity, though most complaints sounded like a simple garden gnome infestation.

“They have some very specific superstitions,” Hermione said. Her forehead creased as she skimmed the parchment for a particular piece of information to share with Harry. “Something is off, though. All the interviews, they don’t seem like a harmless bit of fun people are having.”

“What’s the main complaint?” Harry yawned. “The reason we were chosen to be sent in the first place.”

Hermione gave him a withering look. “Weren’t you paying attention at all? Reports of trickery and thievery, plus a sighting of a ghost, possibly a banshee as she sounds rather angry.”

“Sounds simple enough,” Harry said. “Unless it’s a banshee.”

“They’re hiding something,” Hermione said abruptly. “I just know it. They’re hiding something and you’re going to have to find out what it is.”

“Me?” Harry asked incredulously.

“We both know I’m shite at dealing with people. They don’t like me.”

“Hermione, don’t be daft.”

“They’re going to be looking for a man in charge, and that’s you,” she concluded firmly. 

Harry sighed. This was their first case that was dealing solely with muggles. 

“You two are the only aurors right now who can pass for muggles, based on your history,” Minister Fudge had told them. “We need you to investigate these crimes and fix whatever is wrong.”

Thus began this new adventure of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. It wasn’t so bad, Harry had to admit, despite her strict adherence to rules and regulations. He always knew the things they were doing were by the book and Hermione was a walking library as well. Anything she didn’t know already she could usually turn up inside her bag that Harry was positive had been charmed to hold much more than it seemed to be able to. 

“Now look at this.” Hermione plucked two papers off the table and turned them around so Harry could read them. “When I first read these I thought they were duplicates. If they’re real people causing these offenses, perhaps twins?”

“Possibly,” Harry agreed. 

“But the time doesn’t line up,” Hermione frowned. 

“Mm,” said Harry, who wasn’t in the mood to argue hypotheticals. 

Hermione went back to work in silence, or at least muttering to herself, and Harry went back to taking a serious nap. The next time he opened his eyes, the table was clear of papers and Hermione was reading and sipping a cup of tea. 

“A Historie of Eire Majick?” Harry questioned as he read the book spine. 

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Hermione said without looking up from the book. “There’s a section in here of Eriu’s creatures. Magic creatures,” she clarified. 

Harry yawned and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Eriu, the Gaelic goddess right?”

“Yes.” Hermione nodded. “Tea?” she offered. 

“I’m getting hungry,” Harry admitted. “Should we go down to the dining car?”

“No time, we’re almost to our stop.”

“Ahh, well good. We can find a place to eat then.” Harry sat up and straightened his rumpled clothes. 

Unfortunately, their stop wasn’t much more than a building with a few benches and one ticket booth. Oddly there was no one at the booth to ask about services, or anything. Harry was about to turn to Hermione to ask what they were supposed to do now when the sound of a man clearing his throat behind them made them both turn around. Harry’s hand automatically went to his wand holster and he felt Hermione grab his arm just as quickly to prevent the movement from going any farther. 

“Excuse me,” the man said. He was not very tall, Harry noticed immediately, though thin, with brown hair threaded with gray. He wore a navy blue suit under a black cloak. “Dectectives Potter and, er, Granger?” he asked hopefully. 

“That’s us,” Harry answered, putting his hand out for a shake. “And you are?”

“I’m Father Thomas,” the man said with a kind smile. He shook Hermione’s hand as well. 

“Pleased to meet you,” Harry said to be polite, but he was confused why the parish council had sent this man to greet them. 

“If you’ll come with me, I have a carriage out back for you,” he said as he turned and began to walk away. 

It was an enclosed carriage and Harry exchanged a glance with Hermione before entering it. She gave a slight shrug which Harry took as reluctant agreement. It was growing dark and what other choice did they have? It wasn’t as if they could owl anyone. Harry entered first and was glad to see it was a clean, efficient space. And alone. 

“I’ll ride with the driver,” Father Thomas explained as he hopped up to the front. “To make sure he doesn’t get lost.”

They set off soon after Hermione had settled herself and her bag on the bench beside Harry. 

“Riding backwards makes me ill,” she said, already looking a bit green at the thought of sitting on the bench across from him. 

Hermione was uncharacteristically quiet for the next hour so they sat in silence. Harry knew she was working on something, probably stewing on Father Thomas if he had to guess. Or whatever secret she was so sure was being hidden. Harry didn’t see the point in discussing it before they had a chance to actually talk with the people themselves and begin their investigation. 

“I always forget how long it takes to get places without a portkey or even apparition,” lamented Harry as he shifted on the carriage bench for the hundredth time. 

“Stop wiggling so much,” Hermione said from her seat beside him. It was her turn to doze off, and she had tilted herself until she was touching him while leaned away and supporting her head on her bag. It looked uncomfortable, but Harry supposed there wasn’t much comfort to be had here. 

Their accommodations proved to be just as disagreeable once they finally arrived at the village. There was no inn, as they had expected. In place of an inn or gathering hall was a building that had been clearly modified into a lavish cathedral that looked out of place in the small collection of buildings around it. It was all polished stone and stained glass among buildings of wood and stone. 

“I wasn’t aware this was a converted area,” Harry said to Hermione as quietly as possible. 

“This wasn’t in any of the information,” Hermione replied, looking around suspiciously. “I knew I didn’t have a good feeling about this place.”

“You think this is what they’re hiding?”

“No, Harry. I think they’re hiding something much, much worse.”

Harry was afraid she was right. 

Father Thomas led the two toward the cathedral at a brisk pace without offering to carry Hermione’s bag, a slight that did not go unnoticed. Harry noted that despite torches being lit, there were no people to be seen. Shutters were drawn even though it was barely dusk. Hermione glanced over at Harry with the same concerned expression he felt inside. We’re they really just going to follow Father Thomas into the cathedral? Just when he started wondering what he would do if this was a trap they were walking into, a door burst open to their right. His heart began to pound, despite a sweet-looking older woman bustling out. 

“Oh thank the fates, you’re here at last!” she exclaimed as she approached them. “Come in, come in, dearies,” she gestured to the house behind her. “There’s a stew on the fire and you must be tired.”

Father Thomas halted with a stern look on his face. “Madame Quinn, you shouldn’t be out past curfew.”

“Oh pish posh, I’m sure I’ll be quite as safe in your Godly presence as they are,” she retorted, getting closer and looking as if she might make a grab for Harry’s arm. 

Father Thomas’s smile grew tight. “If you go back in right now, I won’t have to report you to the parish council.” 

“Nonsense, you’ll do no such thing. Madame Quinn’s has always hosted guests to our village and there’s no good reason not to now,” the stout woman planted her feet with a stubborn set to her stance. “Or unless they don’t want to, of course.”

By now Harry could smell the stew and see the well-lit interior. Hermione reached out and gave his left hand a quick squeeze. One glance at her face and he knew her answer. 

“Not to be rude, but couldn’t we at least eat before we decide our sleeping arrangements?” Harry asked, looking between Father Thomas and Madame Quinn. “Due to our travels, I missed lunch, and I’d be grateful for a nice hot meal. We would have eaten once we got off the train but there were no places at your stop.”

“No, we are just a small village, fortunate for our own stop at all,” Madame Quinn said agreeably. 

“We have food to spare in the cathedral,” Father Thomas said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea-“

“I think it’s a fine idea,” Hermione interjected impatiently. “It’s right here, and if we are out past a curfew then it’s best to get inside as quickly as possible.”

“I only meant-“

“Just come right in, sweetie, and you too, dear. I have stew and room enough for each of you and if it’s not to your liking I’m sure Father Thomas will be glad to collect you in the morning,” Madame Quinn said with a wink. 

Harry and Hermione quickly followed the old lady inside and she closed the door behind them a touch too loudly, for emphasis. She motioned them to the table just within the doorway with a bench on their side and she bustled about the fire for a moment, stirring the pot and gathering plates and bread. 

“Was the train very late?” she asked as she ladled thick stew into a trencher for Harry. For Hermione, she made a bowl and put a hunk of bread on the side. 

“No, we were about on time. It just took a bit before Father Thomas came to pick us up,” Harry answered. 

“Is that so?” Madame Quinn said in a disapproving tone. “Did you wait long?”

“It was a bit longer than expected,” Hermione said. “We didn’t realize there was a curfew here.”

“That’s a new law imposed. Since the trouble started, I mean.” Madam Quinn made a grimace. “Wine?” she offered. 

“Yes, please,” Harry smiled. “This is really good,” he said around a mouthful of stew. 

“Just half a glass for me, if you don’t mind,” Hermione said as Madam Quinn began pouring. “This is delicious,” she added gratefully. 

“Don’t be too polite to ask for seconds,” Madame Quinn said kindly as she sat in a chair across from them with her own glass of wine. She wiped the sweat off her brow with a white cloth, though her light brown curls remained damp. 

“Can you tell us more about the trouble you mentioned?” Hermione asked between bites. 

“Well, we’ve always had things happen occasionally, things that can’t be explained. Surely you’ve heard the old stories. Elves, we call them, brownies, sprites... if hospitality is extended they all help where help is needed, and if not they’re prone to mischief. That’s why we leave a candle in the window, butter and bread on the window sill, wine in the wine cup left on the table, and the milk cup as well.”

Hermione nodded. “Common traditions,” she said. My own grandmother did the same when we visited her in the country.”

Madame Quinn smiled. “It hurts no one to keep the traditions, as you said.”

“I take it Father Thomas does not approve?” Hermione asked. 

“Oh, certainly not. He believes the mischief is caused either by children or others playing pranks. He’s managed to convert about half the town to his side,” she said with a frown. “Keeping the old ways is blasphemy to them now. It makes those of us who hold our traditions dear nervous. He’s somehow gotten himself a seat on the parish council. They were supposed to send someone for you, but I’m not surprised that person ended up being Father Thomas. He’s inserted himself everywhere he can. And I’m not at all surprised he made sure to bring you in after curfew.” Madame Quinn’s lips set in a fine line after those words. 

Harry finished his plate and sat back to appreciate his full stomach. Hermione finished hers only minutes later. Madame Quinn took their dishes and silverware and put them in a sink of soapy water. 

“Leave the cups on the table, dearies, and come with me. I’ll show you your room.” Madame Quinn said, already walking toward the stairs. 

“I do hope you’re not in trouble for coming out to get us,” Hermione said as she followed. 

“Don’t you worry your pretty head, child, I’ve gone up against worse than Father Thomas and I’m still here.” Madame Quinn said, huffing a little from the exertion of climbing the stairs. “Here you are,” she said, opening the door to a room that was more spacious than Harry would have thought. 

“Just one room?” Hermione asked.

“We’re not, uh, married,” Harry explained. 

“It’s no business of mine,” Madame Quinn chuckled. 

“He means, we aren’t a couple,” Hermione insisted. 

“Oh!” Madame Quinn finally caught on. “I would offer you a separate room, but the other is occupied at the moment. I’m terribly sorry, I just assumed... if you’d rather, you can board at the cathedral after all-“

“That won’t be necessary,” Hermione interrupted her. “We’ll make it work.” She barged into the room with her bag. “Right, Harry?” she called behind her. It spurred him into motion. 

“Oh, right, of course,” he said as he brought his valise inside the room. 

“Are you early risers?” Madame Quinn asked from where she lingered in the doorway. 

“No,” Hermione answered, just as Harry said, “Not particularly.”

“Well, there will be coffee and breakfast when you do get up, but I won’t make an extra effort to have it ready at daybreak,” she smiled. “The key is in the top drawer of the table and the washroom is the next door on the right. Sleep well,” she said as she closed the door. 

Harry looked around the room. There was one large bed, larger than any Harry had slept in, a long dresser with mirror, a trunk at the foot of the bed, a worn long couch, a small round table with three mismatched chairs around it, plus a more comfortable reading chair in the corner between the window and a bookcase with a few books scattered among the shelves. On the other side of the window was a washing stand with a pitcher and bowl. A smaller pitcher of water had been placed in the right corner against the wall. 

“I can sleep on the couch,” Harry offered. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “This bed is large enough for a family. We’re adults, we can handle this without it being awkward.”

Harry pulled the curtain just a bit to the side so he could peek out of it. 

“Don’t turn around,” Hermione warned him. “I need to get out of these travel clothes.”

Harry heard the shifting of a lot of clothing as he looked down on the darkened houses. The window faced the main road where they had come in, and therefore he couldn’t see much more than he already had. There were several windows with candles in them but most of the houses were dark and drawn against the night. If he tried very hard, he could make out the stone and stained glass windows of the cathedral ahead. 

“Okay,” Hermione said. “I’m in bed now.”

Harry turned around and couldn’t help a chuckle from escaping as he saw she had the covers pulled up to her neck. When he started unbuttoning his outer robes she turned on her side so her back was to him. He carefully folded his travel clothing before slipping into the bed in just his underclothes. 

“What do you think?” Harry asked. 

“I’m not sure yet,” Hermione answered. “Can you please lock the door? Madame Quinn is nice and all, but right now I don’t trust anyone.”

“Right,” Harry said, getting back out of bed and rummaging in top drawers until he found the key. After locking the door he placed the key on the dresser beside the door and went back to bed. 

“Still, I hope to get some questions answered tomorrow,” Hermione said, yawning. “Good night, Harry.”

“Good night, Hermione,” he returned, then drifted off to sleep. 

*******

Someone had a hold of Harry’s arm and was shaking him quite violently. Harry, used to sleeping alone all his life, woke alarmed. 

“Harry,” Hermione’s voice from behind him was urgent. “There’s a noise at the window.”

“It’s probably just an owl,” Harry said drowsily.

“Then go get it!” Hermione hissed. 

Reluctantly, Harry got out of bed and walked over to the window, twitching the curtain aside. “Hermione,” he said in a low voice, “put something on.”

Hermione jumped out of bed and wrapped her outer robe around herself as Harry slid the window open. 

“May I come in?” a strange female voice came from outside. 

Harry turned back to Hermione, eyebrows raised. She shrugged in answer. 

“Alright,” Harry answered, trying to open the window wider. 

The person slipped into the room, shrouded completely in dark clothing. “You’re the detectives?” she asked, facing Hermione in particular. 

“We are,” Hermione said stiffly. “Who are you?”

“Who I am doesn’t matter. I’ve come to tell you not to investigate any further. You’re in danger, you need to get out of here on the first train,” the young woman whispered emphatically. 

“I think we can handle whatever it is that’s been going on,” Harry said gently. “It’s our job.”

The dark figure shook her head violently. “I cannot stress enough how important it is that you leave as soon as you can. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

“So tell us,” Hermione said. “We can help.”

“You can’t! Not with this,” the voice sounded on the verge of tears. “Just go. Go and never come back,” the voice whispered fiercely and jumped back out of the window. 

Harry and Hermione both ran to the window but neither saw any trace someone had been there. Harry closed and locked the window before closing the curtain. 

“Well,” Harry sighed, “that was interesting.”

“If by ‘interesting’ you mean ‘utterly useless and sleep-depriving,’ then I agree,” Hermione muttered. “It must be the middle of the night. Let’s try to get more sleep.”

Harry agreed. He was back asleep once his head hit the pillow. 

The morning came too early, the sun streaming in through the window. 

“Harry,” Hermione groaned, “Did you leave the curtain open? There’s too much morning in here.”

“You saw me close it,” Harry answered grumpily for being blamed for something he didn’t do. He groggily sat up and stretched before clomping over to the window. “Merlin!” he gasped. 

“What!” Hermione asked in an exasperated tone. 

Harry didn’t answer. He slid the window open halfway and gingerly brought in a stiff collection of bloody feathers. 

“Oh God,” whispered Hermione, whose curiosity had exceeded her desire to sleep. “Is that...?”

“A decapitated owl,” Harry answered grimly. It was still holding a message in one cold, stiff claw. He gently pried the parchment loose and opened it. YOU WERE WARNED was scrawled inside in blood. Harry felt sick. He silently handed it to Hermione and watched the blood drain from her face. 

“Who would do such a thing?” she asked, horrified. 

“At least it wasn’t Hedwig,” Harry said. 

“But you know what this means?” Hermione asked. When Harry didn’t answer she answered anyway. “Someone here knows we’re aurors.”

“But how?” Harry asked. 

“That’s what we’ve got to find out,” Hermione said determinedly. “But first, breakfast.” She pulled her wand out and banished the corpse and all evidence from the room. “We don’t say a word about this,” she said. 

Harry, who had dressed as she cleaned up, said, “Don’t worry, I don’t even want to remember it,” he said. “I’ll see you downstairs.” He heard the door lock behind him. 

He quickly used the washroom before going downstairs. The room on the opposite side of the hall was still closed, he noted, though there was a tray of plates outside the door that hadn’t been there last night. 

Madame Quinn had bacon sizzling in a pan and a pot of beans staying hot over the fire. It all smelled wonderful. 

“How did you sleep, dearie?” she asked. 

“Excellent, thank you,” he answered. 

Without asking, Madame Quinn set to making a plate for Harry. “Will Miss Granger be down soon?” she asked. 

“Yes, but she usually eats a light breakfast,” Harry warned Madame Quinn, who nodded as she put food on plates. 

Harry was already having seconds when Hermione came down the stairs, dressed and ready for the day. She accepted her ‘good morning’ and plate from Madame Quinn gratefully and the cup of tea as well. She dropped a few cubes of sugar in before adding cream and stirring slowly. Harry knew better than to talk to Hermione before she had her tea, so despite having questions burning inside, he concentrated on finishing the delicious food Madame Quinn had made. 

“I imagine Father Thomas will be by to collect you soon,” Madame Quinn said as she sat once again with her own hot cup of tea. 

“I don’t think we want to stay with him,” Harry said. 

“Oh, not for that,” Madame Quinn said. “Well, I imagine he will try to persuade you, but he will also be your guide around the village,” she said with pursed lips. “I’d love to be the one to show you around but my hip doesn’t let me get around as well as it used to.”

“We are grateful you’ve been so hospitable,” Hermione said. 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” the kindly old lady waved her off. “You two are no trouble at all.”

A knock sounded at the door. 

“Ah, there he is, right on time,” Madame Quinn muttered as she heaved herself to her feet. “Coming, coming!” she called toward the door. 

“Are the guests ready?” Father Thomas asked from the doorway once it had been opened. It was as if he was loathe to set foot inside. 

“We are,” Harry answered, standing up and wiping his mouth with the clean linen napkin beside his plate. “Thank you once again for a delicious meal,” he said to Madame Quinn as he straightened himself. 

“Yes, thank you,” Hermione said after finishing her tea and slipping into her outer robes. 

“Do come back in one piece,” Madame Quinn winked as she closed the door behind them. 

*******  
The tour was pretty unremarkable as a whole. Father Thomas seemed to have a route planned ahead of time and they had finished walking it by time for the midday meal. Madame Quinn’s information proved to be right; about half the houses welcomed Father Thomas warmly to their residences while the other half were polite yet kept their distance, as if his mere presence could convert them. 

They were shown the houses where the mischief had taken place; all but two were most definitely cases of either garden gnomes or imps, while the two must have been human thievery. The complaint was a certain herb had been removed almost completely from each garden, and apparently the herb was both useful and the cultivators were dependent on the income the herbs fetched at market in the big city. 

Father Thomas invited the two into the cathedral to eat, but Hermione protested. 

“Madam Quinn took care of that,” Hermione said with a satisfied smile, pulling two sandwiches wrapped in wax paper from the pockets of her robe. 

Harry and Hermione sat at the edge of the village fountain to share lunch and discuss their thoughts on what to do. 

“The garden gnomes have got to go or the whole village with be overrun,” Harry said. 

“I agree, though I don’t think it would be bad for the imps to stay,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “They clearly love their mischievous ‘elves’ they leave gifts of butter, wine, milk and even small loaves of bread for. And remember in our room, the tiny ewer on the washstand? They nearly have celebrity status with the people outside of Father Thomas’ congregation.”

“That’s also unexpected. No one could quite answer how long he’s been here and why he came. Or why half the village is on his side and the other half is against him.”

“I did notice that,” Hermione sighed. “I just wish someone would come out and say exactly why.”

“Maybe we can get Madame Quinn to say something. Or drop a hint for someone who will talk. Like who was that in our room last night?” Harry wondered aloud. 

“I was hoping that had just been a bad dream. Honestly that didn’t help anything at all. We haven’t seen anything dangerous enough to scare us off.” Hermione frowned and then took another bite of her sandwich to chew and think at the same time. 

Harry had finished his already and searched in his pocket for a handkerchief. As he pulled it out, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground. Harry looked around to see if anyone had seen before bending to pick it up. 

“Why is the square so empty?” Harry asked, the oddity just occurring to him. 

“I’ve been pondering that myself,” Hermione said. “None of this makes sense. What is that paper?” 

Harry took care to clean his fingers of food before unfolding the scrap of paper. “Since you refuse to listen to common sense, you may as well inquire about the abandoned house on the west end,” he read. 

Hermione was leaning towards him to read it too. “At least this one isn’t in blood,” she commented before popping the last small bite of sandwich into her mouth. “Should we go on our own?”

Harry glanced around, feeling the slimy feeling of being watched but unable to find the source. “Better than just staying here,” he said. 

Hermione looked uneasy too. “Alright. Let’s see, the sun is heading that way, following this path here... let’s go.” She took off in the westerly direction at a brisk pace. 

*******

Even knowing what they were looking for, the house at the end of the path was difficult to find. Ivy had completely enveloped the house, wood and stone both, creating a perfect camouflage in the thick woods. The path to the door had been erased as well, though that couldn’t be explained naturally. Harry went up to the closed door and knocked. Hermione made a face. 

“Habit?” Harry shrugged. He tried the door, but it was locked. He reached for his wand, expecting Hermione to protest, but she didn’t. “Alohomora,” he whispered and then quickly put his wand back away. The door opened easily. 

Inside, it was as if the cottage had been left hastily. A thick layer of dust covered everything from the furniture to the floor. Harry cringed as he realized he was leaving footprints inside. Hermione sighed deeply. 

“We might as well keep going now,” she said with a grimace. 

Quietly they walked around. Despite being abandoned for an untold amount of time, everything was in good condition. The furniture that had been left behind was in place where it had been used; there were no signs of a struggle. The cupboards were bare, shelves and drawers had been emptied long ago. One lonely book remained on the bookshelves that Hermione cast a few spells on before picking it up and slipping it into her bag. Harry stopped by the staircase to look at an old grandfather clock whose face had been removed. 

“I should have known I’d find the two of you here.” Father Thomas’s voice startled Harry, as it sounded as if he were standing directly behind him and not in the doorway. 

“We thought we’d take a short walk while our food digested,” Hermione said, as if such a simple thing included breaking and entering. 

“This house was empty when I came to this village,” Father Thomas said as he took a few strong strides into the house, trailing two fingers through the later of dust on the mantle. He looked at his fingers with disapproval and then wiped them on a pure white handkerchief pulled from his pocket. “No one seems to want to talk about it,” he continued mildly, as if the subject bored him. 

“How strange,” Hermione said in nearly the same tone. 

“So, have you seen everything?” Father Thomas asked. 

“We didn’t go upstairs yet,” Harry answered. 

“I’m not sure those stairs look very safe,” Father Thomas said. “It would be best if we went back to the cathedral. We have a history of the town and census I thought you might be interested in.”

Hermione paused with her hand on the balustrade, looking torn. She looked up the stairs where the top was shrouded in gloom, then at Father Thomas, who looked a bit smug with himself. Harry could practically hear her groan in her mind. 

“I would be interested in seeing that information,” she was forced to admit. “Why don’t I go with you and Harry can let Madame Quinn know what time we plan to be back for dinner. Harry is rubbish at research,” Hermione explained. 

Father Thomas looked like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it and accepted Hermione’s plan. Harry followed the two of them out to the village path, then lingered behind to put some distance between them. 

Harry slipped carefully back into the woods to walk a circle around the house. There was a pile of wood chopped for a fire that, despite being sheltered with a tin lean-to, was slowly rotting into the earth. There was a different smell here, he noted, and not just because it had been left alone by humans. It reminded him of herbology class at school. He walked further into the woods, wishing he could use a few spells to clear the underbrush that tugged at his robes and impeded his progress. It was quite accidentally that he came upon the greenhouse, literally backing into it while trying to free himself for what felt like the hundredth time. He had a feeling if his old classmate Neville was here, he would tell him the plants were magical and grabbing him on purpose. 

He opened the glass door and closed it behind him carefully and then breathed in deeply. It smelled exactly like his old herbology class in here, and the plants were being well-tended and definitely magical. Harry recognized the top of mandrakes in a few pots, plus shrivelfig trees, and some bubotubers. The rest were a complete mystery. Herbology and potions had not been his favorite subjects. He heard a sharp gasp and knew it wasn’t a mandrake caught sneaking a drink or something. 

“Hello?” he called out while looking around the direction the sound had come from. “I’m Harry,” he said, trying to sound friendly. “Who are you?”

“How did you get past the snares?” an unfriendly female voice asked. 

“Very slowly?” Harry said wryly. “They were pretty determined.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, perturbed. 

Harry caught a glimpse of red hair, kneeling behind a row of potted trees. 

“Do you live here?” he asked. He wanted to move closer but treated her like a flighty deer, making no sudden movements. 

“The less you know, the better for you,” she retorted. 

Harry took one slow, deliberate step at a time. “It was you who came in last night,” he said, taking a gamble he was right. 

“And here you are, not listening.”

“Whatever is going on here, we were sent here to help.”

“You were sent to get rid of a few garden gnomes and imps, and one very stubborn leprechaun, all of whom will return within a few months. What’s the point?”

“That doesn’t sound very dangerous,” Harry said. “Although we didn’t appreciate the owl. A bit overboard, don’t you think?”

“Owl?” The girl paused her work, her confusion genuine. “What owl?”

“The headless owl with the note written in blood.”

“That wasn’t me. Sounds like you have multiple admirers,” she shrugged. 

Harry was close enough now to see the side of her face. Not unexpectedly, her skin was pale and freckled, her lashes almost translucent as they matched the fire red of her hair. There was fire in her brown eyes as she turned to him suddenly. 

“Don’t take another step,” she said harshly. 

Too late, his foot he’d lifted went down and was instantly seized by a thick vine that sank greedy thorns into his flesh. 

“Oh, Merlin,” he heard her mutter grumpily as the world went hazy and numb, and then black. 

*******

The world returned to Harry very slowly at first as he could tell he was lying on a bed, in darkness. When the fire in his leg made itself known the world resumed at a much faster pace and he cried out. 

“Oh, Harry, I was so worried!” Hermione said angrily as she leaned over him and put a vial to his lips. “Drink this,” she ordered. 

“Has anyone told you you have the best bedside manner?” Harry asked once he had done as commanded and the pain receded to a bearable level. 

“I see your injury didn’t take your wit.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Where the hell did you find a venomous tentacula, anyway?”

“The what?”

“The thing that bit you,” Hermione said impatiently. “Don’t you remember? The venom isn’t known to tamper with memory,” she said with a thoughtful frown. 

“I remember a girl,” Harry said. 

“Did she bite you?”

“No, that was definitely a plant, like a vine or a thick branch. I don’t know. She told me to stop but I guess I didn’t stop fast enough and here I am. How did I get here?” Harry lifted his leg to survey the damage. He was surprised to see barely a wound considering the pain he felt radiating from the pink spots on his leg where he’d been punctured. 

“She? Did you see her? Do you know who she was?” Hermione asked in rapid fire mode. 

“I saw her. I asked her if she was the girl from last night but she didn’t answer. She had red hair and freckles and her eyes... they were brown and pretty but kind of scary, too.”

Hermione laughed. “So you didn’t recognize her from anyone we met on the tour?”

“No, definitely not. But I think she was the girl who told us to leave, now that I think about it. How did you find me?” Harry asked. 

“You were found on the path just where we left you, but we have other problems we need to discuss,” Hermione said. “I don’t really know how to say this so I’m just going to go with blunt truth.”

“I’d expect nothing less from you,” Harry managed to say with a straight face. 

“It wasn’t last night that we had a visitor. You’ve been out for an entire week, almost exactly. Everyone tried to get me to take you back to London to real healers but I knew you’d pull through.”

“That was a bit of a gamble,” Harry said, not surprised. “I didn’t think healing spells were your strong suit but I did know you were top of the class in potions.”

“Why am I not surprised you read my file?” Hermione smirked. “Anyway, it’s not a particularly difficult wound to heal, normally.”

“Normally?”

“This was definitely a mutation, I just don’t know if it happened naturally or intentionally. But, I did get the right treatment eventually,” she finished cheerily. 

“Thank Merlin,” Harry muttered. “So have you made any progress in a week?”

“Yes, but, I’ll let Remus explain.”

“Remus?” The name sounded familiar. 

“Yes... just let me go get him.”

Hermione returned shortly with a tall, slender man with long light brown hair that was thinning on top and a close-shaven beard that was half gray. 

“Harry, this is Remus; Remus, Harry,” Hermione quickly introduced the two of them. “Remus is the guest that’s been staying in Madame Quinn’s other guest room,” she further explained. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Harry,” Remus said with a hand outstretched. “I was mates with your dad and mum. But mostly your dad.” 

“Ah, that’s why the name sounded familiar,” Harry smiled. “Good to meet you.”

“They spoke of me?” Remus asked in surprise. 

“Yes, some. Of you and of Sirius,” Harry answered. 

“But we really need to talk about the other thing,” Hermione stressed while casting silencing charms around the room to ward against eavesdroppers. 

“Yes, of course,” Remus said. “I was trying to stay out of your investigation, but when I heard what Hermione was discussing with Madam Quinn I knew I couldn’t remain silent.”

“Remus has to come here once a month to, er, hide out for a few days,” Hermione added. 

“I’m a werewolf,” Remus said as normally as one would say ‘I’m a man.’ “Madame Quinn has been nice enough to care for me during that time so I don’t hurt others,” he explained. “It’s just best we get that out of the way,” he said to Hermione. 

“She’s a witch,” Hermione added. “Which makes so much sense once you think about it.”

Harry nodded in agreement. 

“The story I have to tell is a grim one,” Remus said. “I’ve been coming to this village monthly for years, though most of the people never see me. It’s easier when they don’t. When I first started coming here, it was a lively place. Lots of celebrations held in the square, some market done and sometimes people just came to socialize. We also had a community building where many of the celebrations took place as well. It was the sort of place where everyone had known everyone for generations and children ran free in packs, knowing whatever adult they were nearest would mind them. It was a lovely place to be and I loved coming here. 

Like all villages we had a woman who was our healer. Her name was Molly. Her herbal remedies were renown throughout the parish so it wasn’t uncommon for people to come to this place just seeking her help. She also had a family; her husband was on the parish council and they had six fine, strapping boys. They were always a happy family and the village loved them. 

And then the unthinkable happened...” Remus said with a heavy sigh and a sorrowful look crossed his face. 

“It was mid-winter, one of the coldest we had seen in our lifetime, and a wealthy landowner from the next parish over had heard of Molly’s abilities and he brought his son to her. His son had been ill, a pox, they said. His mother was already wailing that he was dead. He was certainly pale, and cool to the touch instead of feverish, they said. Molly initially turned them away, saying there was nothing she could do. None touched by the pox had survived it. 

The mother begged her, promised her anything, just to please, save her only son, her only child. Molly, with six sons of her own, found herself unable to turn the woman away. She saved the boy, but too quickly. She removed the pox and the boy was up and running around the next day, still pale but as healthy as any child there. It was nothing short of miraculous and Molly was no holy woman or she may have gotten away with it. 

The healed boy had no sooner left the village with his family when a large group of men and woman bearing torches descended upon Molly and her family one night. I wasn’t here to witness it, but I heard Madame Quinn was able to convince them not to burn Molly on the spot for being a witch. However, her fate may have ended up to be worse. With only the clothes on her back and snow on the ground, they separated her from her family, blindfolded her, and took her into the woods where they informed her she was exiled. To return would mean she would be killed on sight. As far as I know, she was never reunited with her family and no trace of her has been found, alive or dead. Arthur looked for years, mourning the loss of his wife.” Remus didn’t seem to know what else to say, and silence filled the room as Harry processed the story. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know that such horrible things happened, though with the Ministry of Magic and Statute of Secrecy they were becoming less frequent as the wizarding world hid itself away. 

“What did she look like?” Harry finally asked. 

“Red hair, short, pale skin and brown eyes,” Remus answered. 

“I think I met her,” Harry said. “I think that’s who I saw in the greenhouse.”

“What greenhouse?” Remus and Hermione asked together. 

“Harry looked at Hermione. “After you left with Father Thomas I went back to the house to walk around the outside. I smelled something familiar. It reminded me of herbology class in school. I waked in the direction the smell seemed to be coming from and it let me to a greenhouse not far from the house. That’s where I saw Molly,” he said. 

Remus frowned in thought. “I wonder if she could have been this close the whole time,” he mused, then shook his head. “But that doesn’t make sense. Arthur wouldn’t have moved away if she had been here too. They would have stayed together.”

“Sometimes people grow apart...” Hermione said. 

“No, if you knew them you wouldn’t say that. They were as in love as James and Lily,” he stated as fact. 

“My parents,” Harry explained to Hermione. “Who are embarrassingly in love.”

Harry moved to sit up and Hermione’s eyes grew wide. “Not too fast,” she warned. “I don’t want you falling over. 

“I feel okay,” Harry insisted. “Better than okay, even. Other than the pain from my leg...” he looked down at it ruefully. 

“It still hurts?” Hermione asked. 

“Worse than when it happened,” Harry answered. 

“Hmm,” Hermione said. “Hmm.”

“I can walk on it,” Harry insisted. “I want to go back to the woods.”

Hermione and Remus exchanged a glance. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she said worriedly. 

“Oh, now you two are the team, now that I’m infirm?” Harry snapped grumpily. 

“Remus has been very helpful. And he knows everything we are and aren’t supposed to do, plus he has battle experience. I’m not turning down his assistance,” Hermione said in defense. “Why don’t you finish resting and Remus and I will scout a path. Then we can all go again later. We don’t have a lot of time before curfew, anyway.”

“Did you ever find out what the curfew is for?” Harry asked. 

“It seems to be related to the Molly sightings,” Hermione answered. “You’re not the only one who thinks they’ve seen her.”

Harry nodded and leaned back onto his pillow. “Okay, go on. If I have any more questions I’ll ask when you come back.”

“Meanwhile, Madame Quinn sent this soup up for you. She said it should perk you right up.” Hermione indicated a covered tray on the round table by the window. 

The soup must have had a Pepper-up potion added to it because after the soup Harry didn’t want to hold still any longer. He put his robes on and pulled on his boots, magically extending the top to come up to his knee. Transfiguration had never been his best subject, so the boot was a bit tight on his calves, but the pressure felt nice on the bitten area of his leg. Wanting to avoid Madame Quinn, he slid through the window and dropped down into the grass. 

He watched the streets for people but saw no one and before he knew it he was back at the house that had once belonged to Arthur and Molly. Harry wondered if people considered it cursed because of what had happened there, and that’s why the house had been hidden and never occupied again. He stepped carefully into the woods, trying to imagine being cold and scared and blindfolded, being led away from his loved ones for the crime of saving a life. 

He could see a path cut through the underbrush and decided to go in a different direction. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the forest. To his left he could sense Remus and Hermione and the anger the forest felt as they used magic to cut a trail through the plants and trees.

Odd. He’d never sensed anything from plants in herbology class. He decided to try again, feeling around in front of him. 

He sensed the forest, as if were happily humming a little song, enjoying a squirrel scampering along branches before tucking itself into a cozy hole for the night. He felt a cool stream of water flowing through, giving life and nourishment as it babbled through rocks. And then he felt her. The girl was dipping her hands in the cool water, her knees sinking into the rich soil beside it. 

Harry had his direction. Despite the sun hanging low in the sky and knowing he needed to be back at Madame Quinn’s before nightfall, he started walking away from the village and toward the stream he sensed. Consumed with wanting to see the girl and find out if she was Molly after all, he didn’t give a second thought as to why he suddenly had this sense. He rationalized it because this had been wizard territory once, and magic must linger everywhere, not just in the form of pixies and imps and other magical creatures. 

As he walked he thought about her, and only her, and he could feel her moving away from the stream as he got closer. Unlike before, the forest made no resistance against him, or none that he noticed, and pretty soon he found himself at the edge of a very small clearing with barely more than a small hut and a garden. There was a cauldron sitting over a fire in the center of a circle of dirt. Small river stones made an intricate design in the dirt surrounding the fire. 

“I see you lived,” she sighed as if in resignation as she stirred the cauldron a precise number of times before adding another ingredient. 

“That’s me,” Harry said. “The boy who lived.”

“How,” she asked in a very accusing tone, “do you keep slipping past my wards? Are you some kind of curse-breaker?”

“Definitely not,” Harry answered very seriously. “My NEWT scores were nowhere near high enough.”

The girl gave him a dark look as if she suspected he might be teasing her. 

“Are you Molly?” Harry blurted out before he could stop himself. 

The girl stiffened and he could tell he upset her. He didn’t mean to, but he had to know. 

“No,” she said shortly. 

“Would you tell me if you were?” he asked.

She looked at him again, straight in the eye, and he could see those eyes again full of beauty and fire like her hair. She seemed to be a thing made of flames, he thought, as he watched her emotions flicker across her face like the tongues of fire licking at her cauldron. 

“Yes,” she said, and then stirred the cauldron until a blue foam bubbled up over the edge. She promptly placed a lid on top and put the spoon on the rocks around the fire. 

Harry took another step toward her and stopped, his leg suddenly seized in agony. 

“You’re still hurt?” she asked, confused. “I thought your wife would have taken care of it.”

“Wife?” Harry asked, equally confused. 

“Hermione?” the girl spat out. “You went on and on about her. All you could talk about was Hermione, you needed to get back to Hermione, Hermione would know what to do, Hermione is the brightest witch of your age... I assumed the two of you were married.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “I don’t remember that at all. Did you obliviate me?”

“Well, I do, and it was quite insulting. I didn’t do a thing to you. I couldn’t drop you off fast enough. And now you’re back and I have no idea what I did to deserve you.”

“Sorry,” Harry said quietly. “But we’re not. Married, I mean.”

“Maybe you should propose,” the girl said. 

“It’s not like that,” Harry protested. “We’re just work partners. Not... not life partners.”

“Methinks the boy doth protest too much.” The girl rolled her eyes. 

“What is your name?” Harry asked to change the subject. 

“Shall I make you guess it?” she asked with an impish gleam in her eye. 

“It can’t be Rumplestiltskin,” Harry said. 

The girl stopped moving completely, her eyes wide open. “How did you possibly guess it on the first try?” 

“It’s not. There’s no way,” Harry said, narrowing his eyes at her. 

Her eyes stayed wide open in disbelief.

“Come on,” Harry pressed. “No way. Is it?”

When her facade continued without a crack, he tried another way. 

“Okay, let’s start over. I’m Harry, nice to meet you. And you are?” He raised his eyebrows. 

Nothing. 

Something occurred to him so suddenly he didn’t have time to keep it from slipping out of his mouth. “You’re Molly’s daughter, aren’t you?” he asked. “Oh no, I didn’t mean to say that. I’m sorry.”

“Yes,” the girl glared, “and she taught me to stay away from strangers. Something I have done successfully until you came along. So apparently she didn’t tell you to stay away from me and now we fine ourselves in this situation.”

“Do you really want me to guess?” Harry asked. 

“No,” she sighed. “It’s Ginny.”

“Jenny?” Harry asked to confirm. 

“Nope! I can already hear you spelling it wrong. It’s Ginny - gee eye en en why.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Ginny,” Harry smiled. 

“I wish I could say the same, Harry,” she said with a very tiny grin. “Now let me look at that leg.”

Harry pulled up his pant leg as much as he could, which was luckily just enough for Ginny to examine the bite. 

“Hmm,” she said. “I see what she did. Sloppy work, but she was right in getting the blood to stop coming out. Unfortunately she didn’t heal anything underneath that spell and that’s why you’re in so much pain.” Ginny pulled out her wand. 

Harry tensed our of instinct and forced himself to relax. The same feeling that made him want to trust Madame Quinn made him trust Ginny, too. And he could feel her, he realized when he tried. He could feel the magic she was intending to cast and it was good magic. Healing magic. 

“There,” she said when she was done and pulling his pant leg back down. “Right as rain,” she declared. 

“Thanks,” Harry said, hopping up to try the leg out. To his relief, it didn’t hurt at all. “Oh, he said sadly. 

“What?” Ginny asked. 

“Does this mean I won’t feel you anymore?”

“Feel me?” she asked. 

“Sense you. That’s how I found you today. The forest showed me where you were.”

“Did it now?” Ginny mused. She closed her eyes for a moment. “Well that’s strange,” she murmured. Her eyes popped back open. “No, I don’t think that will change, or at least not right now, and I really don’t have time to investigate that.”

“Have somewhere important to be?” Harry joked. 

“Something like that,” she said as she sat heavily back down by the cauldron and squinted at the moon. 

Harry sat near her, unsure what to do now. He’d found out her name, learned she was Molly’s daughter, and... “Where is your mum anyway?” he asked. “Do I need to go before she gets back?”

Ginny let out a half-laugh that turned into a full sob and Harry realized once again he’d said the really wrong thing. As she tried to get her breathing back under control he moved to sit beside her. 

“Hey,” he said, patting her awkwardly on the back, “it’s going to be okay.”

“No, Harry,” she said with tears slipping out of control from her eyes. “It’s really not.”

Ginny must have really needed a good cry, because she spent the next several minutes helplessly sobbing while Harry tried very hard not to notice how smooth the skin of her arm was at a time like this. She leaned into him and he held her close until her body stopped shuddering and the tears began to dry up. Her hair, he noticed, even smelled like fire. Fire and something sweet, like strawberries or apples, he thought. He didn’t mind the way stray hairs at the top were tickling his nose. 

Eventually, she pulled away and scrubbed her face with her hands. “I’m sorry,” she said with red-rimmed, swollen eyes. “I just... I’ve never had anyone to talk to, but mum. It’s always been me and mum.”

“What happened?” Harry asked as gently as possible. “You don’t have you tell me, but I came here to help.”

“What are you?” Ginny asked. 

“I’m an Auror,” Harry answered. “I help keep the peace, find the bad guys for the ministry, that kind of thing,” he explained. 

“Oh,” she said. “So you know battle magic?”

“Some,” he admitted, “still learning a lot. I haven’t had many chances to battle other wizards, other than dueling for practice.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Ginny said miserably. “What do you do,” she asked, “when the bad guy is your mum?”

“Oh,” said Harry, and then another “Oh!” as he understood the problem. “But I’ve only heard good things about your mum. How could she be the bad guy?”

“I don’t know. Something happened to her. I didn’t see it. She changed. Maybe it was the black magic. All I know is I can protect myself from her, she can’t get past my wards now, but... she’s bad and...” Ginny took a deep breath. “I have to stop her.”

“You don’t have to do this alone, Ginny,” Harry said. He couldn’t help but smooth the hair back that had stuck to the side of her damp face. “Tell me what I can do to help.”

“I don’t know, that’s the problem. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.” Ginny looked as if she might cry again. “I’m brewing this potion. It’s supposed to disrupt certain hexes and curses. It’s all I can think about to do,” she sighed, looking down at her hands. “I think it’s ready.”

“Let me help you bottle it,” Harry suggested. Ginny nodded and they filled four vials from the cauldron and put a stopper in each. 

Ginny tucked three away in her robes and handed the fourth to Harry, “since you helped.”

“It’s getting late,” Harry said, feeling a yawn coming on. 

“I can’t sleep at night anymore,” Ginny admitted. “I only have ever seen her at night. I’m scared to sleep.”

“I can keep watch while you sleep,” Harry offered. 

“Maybe,” Ginny said with a full yawn. 

“Go on,” Harry urged her. “I’ll be right outside.”

“You sure you won’t fall asleep?” Ginny asked. 

“I promise,” Harry answered sincerely. 

Ginny had closed her eyes and within minutes the cutest snore came out of the hut. Harry smiled until he felt the feeling again, like he was being watched. The woods surrounding him were completely black. 

“Ginevra!” a woman’s voice called that made the blood in Harry’s veins turn to ice. “Oh Ginny, darling! Mummy’s here!”

The snoring stopped with an abrupt gasp. “Harry!” Ginny whispered out to him. 

“I’m here,” he whispered back. “I heard it too. Is that...?”

“It’s her,” Ginny confirmed, her mouth set in a determined line. “I told you, I can’t sleep at night.” 

“Where is she?” Harry asked, unable to tell. The voice was cackling now, the sound reverberating off of everything, it felt like. 

Ginny pulled her cloak tightly against her and took her wand out. In her left hand she grasped a vial of the potion she had brewed. “This way. Follow me, but let me do this. This is my burden to bear.”

Harry would have liked to argue that point, but now was not the time. He followed a few paces behind, looking around for anyone or anything but all he saw was darkness. Then, quite suddenly, a figure leaped out of the darkness and landed directly in front of Ginny. Harry drew his wand but managed to keep himself from casting a spell... yet. 

Harry had a brief second to wonder how he could have ever thought young, petite, graceful Ginny could ever have been Molly, the mother of six, no, seven. She looked older than even Harry had expected, with white streaks in her tangled red hair. She was plump, as a mother should be, but not unpleasantly so. But however pleasant she had been in life, death had not treated Molly with the same kindness. For Molly was, indeed, dead. Or, Harry supposed, undead. 

He watched as Ginny threw the vial at her mother with a direct hit. The delicate glass broke on impact and the skin began to bubble and melt where the potion hit. Ginny screamed as Molly lurched toward her, seemingly unaffected. Ginny held her wand in an offensive stance. 

“Mum,” she said shakily, “I’m warning you.”

Molly did not seem to care. She continued, half lurching and half melting toward Ginny who let loose a spell. Three more spells and Molly did not change her trajectory. 

“Mum!” Ginny choked out, tears coming anew. “Mum, please!”

Ginny cast the worst spell she knew: the unforgivable, killing curse. The last resort for any witch or wizard. 

Molly was thrown backward as tears poured freely from Ginny once again. Because of the tears, her vision was too blurred to see her fatal mistake: Molly was dead before the curse, had been dead for days if not weeks. 

Harry ran. Filled with a heady sense of battle, he ran straight for Molly, a different spell on his lips. Molly fell to the ground, her flesh petrified, but not the voice of the one controlling her. 

“You!” her voice screamed with an unearthly tone that felt like nails on a chalkboard. “I should have known it would be you!

“Harry!” Hermione’s voice called desperately from the dark forest. “Harry! It’s not her!” 

“I know!” He yelled, anguished. 

“It’s him! It’s Father Thomas!”

Harry cleared the wards on one side, giving Hermione the ability to see him. As he saw her, he saw a man in the distance. He was dressed in Father Thomas’ robes, but he was tall, thin, handsome. Father Thomas, Harry thought, and felt absolutely stupid. Thomas. Tom. Tom Riddle. The real foe had been in front of him all along. 

“Give me the girl and I’ll let the rest of you go,” Tom said coldly. 

“Never,” said Harry fiercely. He cast the same spell he’d used on Molly and Tom fell to the ground beside Molly, completely petrified. 

Hermione caught up with Remus only steps behind her. She cast a few binding spells of her own. “What on earth happened here?” she whispered at the scene of horror. 

“Harry saved me,” Ginny said in a small, weary voice. Her hand slid shyly into Harry’s. “Thank you,” she whispered to him. 

“Of course,” Harry said, his chest feeling like it was swelling. He turned to face her. She pulled on his arm until he bent closer to her and then she pressed her lips against his, her eyes fever-bright. 

Hermione gave a small cough. “Come on, Remus,” she said with a smile. “Let’s get this cleaned up and taken to the Ministry. Have you ever thought about being an Auror?” she asked as her voice trailed off into the distance. 

Harry couldn’t help smiling. And he couldn’t stop kissing Ginny, not until after the sun came out and the two sought refuge and sleep in her tiny hut. And even then, as he drifted off to sleep holding her small and warm body against him, he kissed her again, one more time.


End file.
